Not What They Expected
by Cyanide Lemons
Summary: Because even if he doesn't look evil, he probably kicks puppies.
1. Chapter 1

Just a small drabble while I try to get over my writers block.

My first supernatural fic.

More than likely majorly AU.

I haven't actually watched most episodes, I've only read fanfiction.

/…..

He isn't what they expect.

He doesn't _look _evil for one, even though he was walking around giving orders to demons that where definitely evil themselves.

That were complying.

His hair is strawberry blond, (and Sam was always saying that it wasn't true gingers had no soul.) he's tall, but not Sam-tall, and really, shouldn't his eyes be red or something?

There blue.

He doesn't speak with the voice of a thousand damned, or some sort of bullshit like that. In fact, he sounds a lot like Dean when hung over; gravely with a hint of I-wish-I-was-anywhere-else-than-here.

He doesn't spare them a glance, bound and immobilised at his feet, something else that's new. (Most of things that want to kill them can't wait to gloat or torture or drive them insane. Dean feels slightly slighted. Weren't they supposed to be a _threat_ to evil?)

He goes about ordering minions about and doing dastardly things to innocent people and kicking puppies.

Because even if he doesn't look evil, he probably kicks puppies.

(And damn it, he's not jealous or anything, not pouting cuz some _demon_ isn't paying attention to him. He's not some _chick_ whose boyfriend is paying more attention to football or something.)

But fuck it; he isn't what they had expected.

Oh, the angels had been surprised too, so Dean didn't feel too bad about that, but it was a principal thing. They were supposed to have _insight _and been prepared and_ ready_. And what does the _Devil do? _Waltz straight out of hell, six months early, looking, acting, _nothing _like he was supposed to.

It's _frustrating_.

They had been overcome so easily too, surprised and off guard and _totally_ not equipped to handle a perfectly healthy Satan.

He'd just sauntered up, smiling like the cat that caught the canary and then proceeded to eat it with a spork, and Bam! Defeated.

It was enough to make a grown man cry.

…

That's the end folks.


	2. Fuck the effin sea

Ok so I said that the I would not continue my supernatural drabble. But, well Harry Potter just aint doing it for me lately, so here's a mediocre bit sized fic for ya.

Warnings for religion.

….

Part 2

"You're lucky, ya know" The demon says, some sort of southern accent drawl turning what might have been an intimidating enough character, well, kinda cliché.

Dean just glares.

His brother had conked out about an hour ago, slumping against his side like a rag doll. A really heavy, awkward rag doll. Because of the ropes stretched across his chest and arms he couldn't even shove him off, the bitch.

The whole evening had gone from frustrating and frightening to, well, boring. And Dean was _really_ getting fed up with the whole shebang.

Their guard, who's only name giving was Bob, had thus far spent the three hours since Satan had left to gabber away at Dean as if he actually cared. Dean that was. Three hours. Two more than one. Three more than Dean wanted to ever spend in a demon's, 'specially this demon's, presence.

"Since, you know, Boss man's been after you two since, well forever it seems like.' Cept it couldn't have been, since I was there at the beginning, you know? Anyways, he was all like, "Winchester this" and "Winchester that". Well not really, because boss wouldn't really say that, but it felt like that was how it went. He was really gunning for you, talking 'bout how he would rip you all from limb to limb, and pop your eye out with a rusty spork. Man, it's all about sporks down below, did you know there's a spork gutting contest...?"

And so on.

Bella would have been a preferable substitute. Heck Crowley would have been at least slightly better as a guard. Oh he would smirk, and talk 'bouts how this had been his plan all along, 'cuz yeah he wanted to rule hell, but now at least he's got a raise. Also, no more paperwork.

Why hell has a salary system is something Dean doesn't wants to think about. Or what exactly demons are paid in.

At least Crowley wouldn't try to entertain Dean with stupid, idiotic, brain numbing torture that is Bob. He would not talk about what Bob is calling "demon gossip". He did not want to know about demon gossip, especially the type that they talk about 'round the water cooler.

He did not want to know what Lilith thought of his dad. Or what she thought of his dad and his dad's "gun". He did not want to know how once Azreal tried to get some human girl to sleep with him and it turned out to be a transvestite. He really didn't want to know why that one demon calls the devil "Lucy".

In fact, all that Dean really wants to do at the moment is duck tap the fucking demon's mouth shut.

"…And then Mosses is all like "What sea? Fuck the effin sea." And woosh! Instant path. 'cept you don't have to add water. Really should have thought not to give 'em the drugs. I mean, look what that Jesus guy did with the acid we gave him. Totally not cool. I mean, cults are fun and all, but man was boss man mad. Guess it would have been better had we just framed 'im for, like sodomy or something. But come one, how were we supposed to know he was an effin wizard. S'not frickin Harry Potter in 'er is it?"

….

….My imagination should be shot. Repeatedly.


End file.
